Break

Break--Chapter 6

by cyanide blue

Veritaserum. He should have known.

"Your name?" Bellatrix asks, her hand gripping Penelope's limp wrist.

"Penelope Guinevere Clearwater," she says, her tone lifeless.

"What did you see at the siege?"

"The Daily Prophet headquarters hadn't heard about the siege by that point, and I'd Apparated there to get an interview with Minister Fudge, and I ended up directly in the middle of the mess in the Atrium - I got pushed into the fountain by someone, and when I got out, Blaise Zabini, one of the Minister's aides, was dragging Harry Potter past me."

Bellatrix's eyes flash. "Zabini."

"Go on," Rodolphus says, impatiently. Bellatrix glares at her husband, who ignores the look.

"He pushed him out of the Ministry, and I tried to Disapparate but someone had put up a ward, and then someone stunned me and I ended up here."

Bellatrix stands quickly, furiously. "I TOLD YOU WE SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM," she snarls at Rodolphus.

Rodolphus rises slowly. "Bellatrix, be sensible," he says quietly.

"Sensible?" she cries, lashing her wand out at Percy - a tendril shoots out of the end and wraps around his neck, tightening immediately. He claws at it desperately, gasping in little breaths of air.

"Shh, my love..." Percy's glasses now fall off with his tremors, his vision turns red, and with raw pain he faintly recognizes that he's successfully clawed marks into his own flesh, now.

"DON'T YOU DARE SIDE WITH THE TRAITOR." He stiffens as the tendril tightens even more, his legs struggling instinctively.

"My love... we can find the traitor and bathe in his blood, but you mustn't kill the Weasley."

"I don't care about the Weasley." The pressure loosens, Percy manages to get a lungful of air and has never been so grateful.

"Then release him."

He's suddenly freed, and he sinks into the wall, breathing deeply as though he never will again. By then, the Lestranges are gone, and he is alone.

Mostly alone.

Still wheezing, he looks down at Penelope, who is still under the Veritaserum trance. He kisses her slightly parted lips, only noting then that he's in hysterical tears. He can't recall if Veritaserum wears off, so much all that studying for NEWTs did, he can't remember the properties of one of the most feared, best known potions of them all...

"Penelope." It almost hurts to say her name, like the cliché of an old, aching wound on a rainy day. He takes her wrist, strokes her smooth skin reverentially. He lifts her hand, and at a flash of silver, leans in with blind eyes to stare at the Celtic ring on her ring finger. He lets her hand fall limply to her side.

"Why did you keep the ring?" he whispers.

She startles him as she responds in the same flat tone. "Even though he broke my heart, I knew he loved me, no one else would; I couldn't let him go."

He doesn't trust himself to speak again, even if he could. He's afraid he'll ask too many questions, and the flat tone of her voice delivering messages of love is almost sickening with its irony. Instead, he buries his face in her shoulder, hoping against hope that she'll wake.

--

"Get on your feet, Weasley," he hears faintly through sleep, and then his body obeys the order without him even giving it.

Percy blinks, and, in the confusion of the newly awake, attempts to find his glasses. He finds them on the floor, and puts them on, looking up at Flint slowly. "Good morning, Marcus," he says calmly.

As Flint steps close to him, Percy notices it doesn't even bother him anymore. All of his personal space issues (of which there used to be many) are gone. Strange, how men adapt. "Our Lord has an offer for you; for you, an insignificant worm underneath his foot. Listen carefully or I'll... punctuate my words with something more persuasive."

Percy looks briefly down at Penelope, who's now curled on her side, eyes closed delicately, facing where Percy had been laying. The Veritaserum must have worn off. Flint grabs his chin. "Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," Percy says reasonably, not struggling. "Make your proposal."

Flint releases him. "The Dark Lord is going to rebuild the Ministry, to regain the people's favor. You will be the new Minister of Magic. You will act on your Lord's behalf... imparting his wisdom to the unenlightened."

"...What?"

"You would pass legislation that would, of course, prohibit Mudbloods from being considered citizens; they'll be as good as property. Your pretty little Mudblood whore there, she could be yours - not your wife, you can't marry property, anyway, and we have that planned as well."

"A wife?" Percy asks, fairly sure that he's going mad again.

"You needn't make it sound like a punishment," Flint says, raising an eyebrow. "This is an excellent offer, better than death."

"Betray everything I stand for," he says, aware that he is, on some deeper level, getting very angry, "to make your little political charade work."

"What do you stand for, Weasley?" Flint scoffs. "I don't believe you stand for anything but yourself."

Percy makes no effort to deny. "And that isn't me."

Flint flicks his wand and a sharp, shining metallic point like a Muggle surgical instrument comes from the tip. "It's that or nothing."

"Nothing?" he asks, though he knows what the answer will be.

Flint runs his thumb against the scratches Percy gave himself during Bellatrix's rage and Percy winces at the rivulets of pain. He then takes the metal tip of his wand and runs it against one of the large scratches; Percy stiffens and shudders, gives a soft moan, and Flint likes that. He lifts the tip from Percy's neck and runs it along his collarbone, kissing him roughly while grinding their hips together.

Percy drowns in his senses, not sure whether he's in pain or pleasure or a strange mix of the two, and once Flint breaks away he finds himself moaning. The collar of his shirt is wet with blood, and the last time he'd let himself go this much was his last time with Penelope. Flint pants, dipping his head to lick away the stream of blood from the wound on Percy's neck.

From over Flint's shoulder he sees Penelope stirring, her eyes opening. He tries not to react visibly as he feels, caught, degenerate. She starts to sit up, and Percy gives her a quick negatory look. Flint notices, and looks around, stepping away from Percy to kneel next to Penelope. "Good morning, Mudblood. Pity you gave up on this one, he's quite a snog."

Percy is only halfway to sitting when he hears this, and practically falls the rest of the way. He looks up to see Penelope giving him a startled look, but Flint goes on: "I gave him a chance, you know, and I think he'll take it, with a bit more persuasion..."

"Stop," Percy says weakly.

"Percival," Penelope begins, but Flint puts a finger to her lips.

"You'll agree?"

"... Give me a day and you'll have your answer."

"We could find someone else," Flint says, rolling his eyes.

"No one that would know what they're doing, you've killed the lot."

He pauses. "A day? From now."

"From now," Percy agrees.

Flint takes his hand from Penelope's lips and extends it to Percy. "For a true wizards' pact."

Percy knows what it means, of course, and is hesitant to take Flint's hand. No one wants to bind their fate to someone like Flint. Nonetheless... as he takes Flint's hand and shakes it, he looks to Penelope, who has had her unwavering gaze on him since the start.

Flint rises, flicking his wand again so the knife retracts, and strides out. The door is promptly shut and locked.

Penelope sits up, staring at him with those wide blue eyes, and he stares back helplessly. "Let me help," she says after a long silence, shuffling close to him and ripping cloth from her already frayed skirt.

"Wh - "

"To stop the bleeding," she explains, "and to clean up what's lost." She blushes, saying an apology under her breath before spitting on the piece of cloth and carefully tilting his head back so she can clean the blood from his neck and shoulder. "I suppose it was a good idea to stay with work," she says, continuing to work diligently.

He can't think of anything to say to that. She always could make him speechless. He closes his eyes, lets her work on him, falling into a meditative state until she touches his cheek, and his eyes open up. Her face is close to his, her breath on his cheek, and he cherishes that as a blessing he never thought he'd receive again.

"If you do it, I won't blame you," she says.

It takes him a moment to realize what she's referring to, then he nods slowly. "It is the best possible situation."

"For yourself," Penelope interrupts. "For you, for your kind. Not mine."

"Penny - "

"Percival, please, just understand - if you do that, you will be set up as our martyr."

He stares at her. "What?"

She frowns. "If you were to do this, and then you rebelled against Voldemort's wishes, you would be just what the Muggleborn resistance needs. A symbol. Something to rally those who support them. You would be famous, even if you only reigned thirty minutes."

"You're saying I'd die," Percy repeats.

Penelope shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Percival, I just meant to..."

"Prepare me for the reality of the situation," he finishes. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Most don't. Most martyrs think they're immortal." Before she can go on, he kisses her, fully aware that he kissed Marcus Flint with this mouth and greatly enjoyed it, because this is what really matters. Flint's manipulations mean nothing in the scheme of things; he loves Penelope, would do anything for her.

She buries her head in the unwounded part of his shoulder and presses herself close to him, warming, relaxing, comforting and seeking comfort. He puts his arms around her, kissing her forehead before leaning into her as well.

Would he die for her sake? For the sake of her kind, for her safety? Or will he forsake her safety for his own, go against everything that his family instilled in him?

For now, he doesn't think; he presses his face into her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of Penelope, and has a rare moment of bittersweet peace and freedom there.